Swipe Right

by Stephie Chapman

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ I say, handing Lucas his coffee and getting back under the covers. ‘How about we go for something to eat in a bit? I’d really like to spend the day with you and to be brutally honest, I think brunch would sort this bullshit hangover out.’

  He blows on his drink and steam wafts up and I think he’s going to make an excuse to leave, or say he has to help Simon with something. Or pop into the office to tidy up some loose ends, but instead he squeezes my hand and looks genuinely happy and agrees that would be a lovely way to spend the morning. A pang of guilt clutches at my heart. It gets flicked away.

  And so we head out into the crispy cold morning. We stroll through the Olympic Park and over the River Lea and the canal into Hackney Wick to the brunch spot Suze and I sometimes go to when we’ve got nothing in the flat and a hankering for a Bloody Mary. There are neon signs on the walls and spider plants hanging from the ceiling. The food’s good and I get my usual poached eggs on sourdough with avocado and a side of black pudding. Lucas goes all in for a full English and I badger him to get sides of potato rosti and halloumi. He’s reluctant.

  ‘It’s for you really, isn’t it, Fran?’ he says, when it arrives.

  ‘No, it’s to share,’ I say, cutting the wedge of cheese in half.

  ‘Well, I don’t like halloumi,’ he argues in a definitive sort of way. ‘Far too salty. And anyway, you’ll be watching yourself for next Friday, won’t you?’

  ‘Why will I be watching myself?’ I ask, unsure as to what I think about his tone.

  ‘Because you’ll be needing to squeeze into your little black dress, I expect,’ he says. He’s concentrating on his food, so he doesn’t see the confusion on my face as I rack my brain. I have no idea what’s happening on Friday.

  ‘Friday… Friday… help a girl out here?’ I say.

  ‘You know, my Christmas party.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about this,’ I say, putting down my fork. He rolls his eyes at me.

  ‘Yes you do, Franny-Frangipane. I told you.’

  ‘Lucas, no you didn’t. When?’

  ‘Oh,’ he waves his fork around, dismissively. Bean juice flicks off and lands on the side of my plate. ‘A while ago, you must have forgotten. Anyway, it’s black tie.’

  ‘You didn’t ask me,’ I say. ‘I’d have remembered a black tie do with your colleagues. I’d have been excited for it.’

  I’ve never met any of them. I’m yet to be invited out, despite asking. So on that basis alone, I know I’d have remembered. Meeting Lucas’ colleagues would feel like a big deal.

  ‘Well, clearly you didn’t,’ he says. ‘But that’s fine. You’ve had other things on your mind. It’s why we don’t see each other so much now. You’ve less time for me.’

  ‘Not true at all,’ I mutter, keeping my voice low so other diners aren’t aware we’re on the brink of a spat.

  ‘Well, that’s how it feels, Frances,’ he says, in equally clipped tones. ‘Anyway, it really doesn’t matter. You’re coming out with me next Friday, and all I meant was that the dress is quite tight, so you’ll want to watch your figure this week. Maybe lay off the boozing with Carly.’

  ‘It’s Carlina,’ I say, gritting my teeth a little.

  ‘Whatever,’ he says, and it’s clear that he really doesn’t give a shit about my job, or who I’m there with. ‘It’s a good dress though, darling. Shows off your arse nicely.’

  ‘Oh well, I’ll be sure to make sure it’s dry cleaned,’ I say. I push the plate of halloumi away, suddenly not fancying it. ‘Where is this party? What do I need to do?’

  ‘Russell Square,’ he says. ‘Really, Franny, I definitely mentioned this. It’s a sit-down dinner. We’ll be sitting with everyone who works on the McLelland account. So, best behaviour for me, okay?’

  ‘As if you’d ever get anything else,’ I say.

  ‘No talk of danger blow jobs,’ he says, and winks, and my cheeks flush a little.

  ‘That was a throwaway comment about coming to Henley with you months ago and to be honest I wish I’d not said it,’ I say. ‘Obviously I’m not going to talk about our sex life in front of your colleagues.’

  ‘Just checking,’ he says. ‘Actually, if you could lay off anything controversial – politics, sex, stories of you getting blitzed with your friends et cetera – that would be great.’ There’s not a hint of a joke, or any lightheartedness at all, and I sit there and sip my Bloody Mary and wonder if that’s really what he thinks of me. Maybe that’s why I’m never invited out. He thinks I’ll show him up. It doesn’t feel good.

  And that opens up another little box in my brain, and it’s one that I’ve tried so hard to keep shut, but one that really wants to bust open, and has done since I got my job at Viral Hive. We’re really not very similar at all. There aren’t many, if any, shared interests. And that wouldn’t automatically be a problem, except that he doesn’t bother with mine and I’m kept separate from his. I’ve always been keen to draw him into my friendship group, to invite him out to the pub on a Friday, for him to get to know my friends. And yet he never wants me to cheer him on at Parkrun on a Saturday, and he’s openly disdainful of Suze and Lydia, and apparently now Carlina as well, and the only friend of his I see regularly is Simon. And Simon, frankly, is a bit of a tit. Another thing occurs to me, but I shove that right back from where it came; does he only want me at his fancy black tie Christmas party so that he doesn’t show up alone?

  Lucas reaches his hand across the table and takes my fingers in his. He looks at me and smiles and his brown eyes look genuine and sincere.

  ‘I’m sorry if I touched a nerve,’ he says. ‘I didn’t mean to say you’re looking fat. I just meant that you look smashing in your black dress, is all.’

  ‘Okay,’ I mumble. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Especially when you’ve been taking care of yourself. You’ve got access to the gym in your block, right?’ He slants his eyebrows down as if he’s passing on some really sage advice, and I feel my own ascending towards my hair line. As nice as it was of him to come over and surprise me, this has taken a turn and I’m still too hazily hungover and processing too much to want to deal with it. For the first time ever, a switch is flipped inside me and I don’t want him here, in my space, any longer.

  We finish the rest of the food without much further conversation, settle up, and head back towards Stratford. The sky has clouded over now and the air is bitter. The sunshine from earlier has completely gone and it feels like a metaphor. I just want to go home and curl up under a blanket with vats of tea. Maybe scrutinise myself in the bathroom mirror. Pinch the skin on my hips and stomach and upper arms and push it back so I can visualise what my figure would be like if I was thinner, more toned, more inclined to work on myself. I’m definitely going to vent to Suze, and I can’t do that if Lucas is with me. We reach the station and I stop and look at my phone. It’s twelve thirty-five.

  ‘So,’ I say, shoving my hands deep into the pocket of my coat. ‘What have you got on this afternoon?’

  ‘Err,’ he says. ‘I thought we were—’

  ‘It’s just I’ve remembered I’ve got a few things to do. You know me, always forgetting things until the last minute. Plus I need to potter about a bit. Do a bit of work research. You understand, don’t you?’ I say. How do you like them apples? I think. Not so nice when you’re on the receiving end of the cold shoulder, huh?

  ‘Okay,’ he says, slowly. ‘This isn’t about what I said, is it?’

  ‘What did you say, Lucas?’ I ask, breezily.

  ‘You know… about…’ He stops and I wonder if he’s actually crass enough to repeat it. ‘Never mind, nothing,’ he says.

  ‘Alright.’ I clap my hands and lean up to kiss him. ‘I’m assuming you’re busy this week, right. On the McLelland account?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’ He’s looking puzzled. It’s unlike me to pack him off home. Usually I eke out every last minute I can with him. ‘But maybe—’

  ‘I will be, too,
so see you Friday then? Shall I meet you at Russell Square?’

  ‘Right. Yes. Six thirty for a drinks reception at seven.’

  ‘Can’t wait,’ I say. I’m all smiles, but really I just want him to go so I can mooch on home. ‘Oh, say hello to Babooshka, won’t you?’

  ‘Annoushka,’ he corrects.

  ‘Got it. Well, I’ll see you then, and I’ll look smashing. I won’t show you up. I’ll be your pretty girl. Don’t you worry.’

  I watch him walk into the station and through the barriers before I turn for home. I want him to think, if he turns around, that I’m being sweet by waving him off, when really I just want to make sure he actually leaves. But he only stops to put his headphones in before he’s on the platform.

  If my face was an emoji it would be the one with the straight line for a mouth and the two smaller lines for eyes. He didn’t tell me about that party. I’d have put it in my phone, the same way I put all our dates in my phone. I’d have already been thinking of shoes and accessories. I’d have had that dress dry cleaned already. I’d have told Suze, and when she confirms no prior knowledge of the aforementioned Christmas party I know for absolute certain I am not going mad after all.

  ‘He’s gaslighting you,’ she says. ‘And I’m sorry to say it, but that’s a really shitty thing to do.’

  ‘I know,’ I admit, hugging my knees to my chest on the sofa. ‘I just don’t know why he’d do it. He never, ever used to be like this. He also accused me of not having so much time for him.’

  ‘It’s almost as if he feels threatened by all the new aspects of your life,’ she says. ‘Because it’s something you have just for you. Although I did think it was super cute of him to come over like that last night. And he was no trouble. I just buzzed him in and he went straight into your room.’

  ‘This is it, Suze. He can be so sweet. He can be Lucas from the beginning. Like when he sent me flowers on my first day at work, and how he makes me sundaes when I stay at his, and then last night. But then he does equally crap things that sort of cancel out the good. Like when I moved here and he threw a strop because I wasn’t going to be in South London anymore. And when he was condescending in front of my colleagues. And how he’s never really made an effort to get to know many of my friends, despite us being together for ages.’

  ‘Have you thought about talking to him? Gently, in a non-confrontational way about how that makes you feel.’

  ‘Nah,’ I say. ‘He’d just call me Franny-Frangipane and pat me on the head or some such bullshit,’ I say.

  ‘You should though; he might not realise he’s doing it.’

  ‘Suze!’ I howl. ‘That’s even worse! At least if you know you’re being an arsehole it’s an informed decision. What does it say about a person if they aren’t even self-aware enough to know when they’re being grim?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, but okay. I guess if you don’t want to talk it out, then at least try not to dwell on the stuff that makes you feel bad. It’ll only gnaw you from the inside out.’

  And just like that, the memory of Ollie looking into my eyes and asking to pretend there was no one else fires from every synapse. And for a few seconds I can almost feel his forehead against mine and the warm damp air between us as we exhaled.

  ‘You’re a wise old bird,’ I say. ‘But I think I’m going to have a nap. Maybe watch some trash on TV. And I’ve got to find this dress.’

  ‘I’m popping out in a bit, so if you find it before your snooze I can take it to the cleaners for you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, and blow her a kiss on the way to my room.

  * * *

  Carlina arrives at work just before midday on Monday. She hurries straight over to Joe’s office and pokes her head inside the door. After imparting some information, she skips over to the desk. It didn’t take long to figure out that Carlina is an open book. You instantly know what mood she’s in from the way she holds herself as she walks through the office. You instantly know if it’s going to be a headphones in, head down, don’t talk to Carlina sort of day, or one where there’s coffee for all, jokes on the Slack channel, and perving over hot men.

  Today, fortunately, is the latter. She’s in a belter of a mood, despite her sketchy time-keeping, which I secretly file away in case it becomes a thing I need to talk to her about. She distributes little nets of chocolate pennies to us and she badgers the Yummo team to whip up a giant batch of gingerbread for everyone under the guise of one final video before Christmas.

  Everyone is on wind down now, and the hot topic of conversation is the Christmas party. Ben regales us with the events of the evening, and how he and Lexi and some of the senior management team ended up at a nightclub and did cocaine and didn’t get home until dawn.

  ‘It was a white Christmas!’ Lexi squeals. ‘Snow everywhere.’

  ‘Neither big nor clever, to be honest,’ Carlina trills. ‘And frankly I knew that’d happen… which is why I ducked out.’

  Ben tells Ollie he was missed and should have come along and Ollie makes a ‘hmm’ sound and mutters that Lou had called and everyone sort of nods, because we all suspect he’s enormously under the thumb.

  Mickey asks me if I guessed who my Secret Santa was, but I shake my head and lie that I have no idea.

  ‘It’s such a random gift though. I mean, does it do anything?’

  ‘No, it’s just pretty,’ I say. ‘Just a nice thing to look at. What did you get?’

  ‘Socks,’ she says, and hoists her leg up so I can see her ankles. She has mint green socks with fox faces on. ‘Wearing them today. Aren’t they so adorable?’

  ‘Very,’ I say. ‘Someone obviously thinks you’re a foxy maiden who appreciates the wonder of putting your feet into a new pair of socks.’

  ‘Ah I hope so. And they’d be right on both counts,’ she giggles, and tosses her hair.

  A little later on I get up to make a coffee and ask if anyone wants one, but I’m met with three no’s.

  ‘Oh, check if the gingerbread is done yet. This gal fancies a snack,’ Carlina yells after me.

  I’m just about at the kitchen when a snippet of conversation stops me in my tracks. Jen and Phoebe from the Yummo team are standing by the oven. Jen’s holding the timer in oven-gloved hands and Phoebe is checking the set-up on the camera for her shot of fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies.

  ‘So, they were seen looking… friendly, shall we say, on Friday evening,’ Jen is muttering. There are raised eyebrows and big eyes and a smirky mouth.

  ‘No!’ Phoebe whispers. ‘You cannot be serious.’

  ‘Yeah! Mad, huh?’

  ‘I didn’t even think they liked each other all that much.’

  Oh my god. I stand statue-still, afraid, even, to breathe. Suddenly I’m too warm on the back of my neck under my hair and in the crook of my elbows inside my jumper and behind my knees. They haven’t seen me, but if either of them look out towards the main studio they might.

  ‘Well… no, me neither. Surprising stuff.’

  ‘Isn’t that what Christmas parties are for though? Getting drunk and getting off with your colleagues. Wonder if they regret it.’

  ‘Would you, if you were her?’

  Jen laughs. ‘Nope.’

  I can’t listen to any more of this. Ollie and I are busted, and my stomach drops and suddenly coffee does not sound appealing at all. Everyone knows about Lou. Everyone has met her. People know about Lucas as well, although he’s more the man of mystery. So that makes Ollie and me the sketchy office cheaters, and now I’m conflicted; I wish I hadn’t heard any of it but also, thank Christ I did. The timer in Jen’s hand goes off with a high-pitched beep, jolting me out of myself, and I use them turning towards the oven as an opportunity to back away from the kitchen and compose myself. I should probably speak to Ollie, ask if he’s heard anything and suggest he keeps an ear out, but maybe the better thing to do is to stay calm and pretend I don’t know we’re the subject of office
gossip. And I’m sure he’d tell me if he’d heard anything. And there’s a good chance it would get back to him; he is, after all, Captain Popular.

  But on the other hand if anyone did catch us, all they would have seen was a drunken snog at a Christmas party. No one else knows the look we shared immediately afterwards. No one else knows how I felt when he pressed me up against the wall. No one else heard him ask me to pretend we were meant for each other for a few moments. And no one else ever will. I decide not to mention it.

  I look out across the room from under the mezzanine. No one pays me any attention but still I feel watched. I slink back to my seat and slide into my chair, slipping my headphones in straight away and getting my head down. Carlina pulls an ear bud straight out again.

  ‘Oi, cloth ears. Gingerbread?’ she asks.

  ‘Not ready yet,’ I mumble, and that, at least, isn’t a lie.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I kept my head well and truly down for the rest of the week, and was careful about only spending time with Ollie when there were other people around, whilst at the same time trying not to make that too obvious either. I’ve been careful about other things, as well. Not getting myself caught up in gossipy Slack channels that contain Jen and Phoebe, for instance, and only talking about my life outside work in a very superficial way. I lied to people all week about feeling a little sub par as an excuse to keep myself to myself a little more than I usually would have done, and it was exhausting. I’m not used to watching myself quite as much as that, but Ollie and I haven’t talked about what happened again, and he seemed fine, so I took my cue from him. When everyone got up to head to The Whippet on Friday afternoon, I ignored an email from Maxine asking what my plans were for content in the new year, packed up my stuff, and explained I had Lucas’ posh Christmas soirée so would therefore be foregoing Friday drinks.

  Now I’m standing outside Russell Square tube station, big heels making the balls of my feet ache a little already, freezing but looking very chic in my black cocktail dress and matching clutch under a pea coat, and clothes for tomorrow in a rucksack, because I happily promised Lucas I’ll go back to Battersea tonight, and I’m secretly wagering he’ll be too hungover to run around Wandsworth Common tomorrow morning. I’m excited for a wonderful evening. In my head I’ll meet his coworkers and instantly win them over with my charm and wit. I’ll place my hand on Lucas’ arm and laugh in all the right places at things he says. He’ll show me off and introduce me to his boss. Annoushka and I will become firm friends. We’ll plan girly spa days together we’ll probably never take. We’ll definitely compare shades of lipstick in the ladies’ and it’ll set my mind completely at ease about her going to next year’s regatta at Henley instead of me. We’ll sip champagne cocktails and hold intelligent, grown-up conversation over dinner. We’ll play fantasy dinner parties, and end the night with drinking games and dancing and air kisses and promises of doing it all again soon. Maybe after tonight Lucas and I will take turns on who to drink with on a Friday evening. Maybe someday we’ll all meet at The Whippet.